“…I’ve yet to be given one,” the child replied. “I have yet to be named.”
“Your parents did not bless you with a name at your birth?” I was intrigued by the child’s predicament.
“I have no parents,” he admitted as he moved his small body closer to my own.
“That is unfortunate,” I replied. “But it is not something you cannot overcome. I was once in your same position as well, child. And look how far I’ve been able to rise through combat in the arena—”
My words were cut short by a sharp pain beginning to emanate from my side. And when I looked down at my skin, I noticed a blade buried deep, the child’s hand still holding onto the weapon’s hilt.
“For Reddin!” the child screeched before letting go of the blade, before running back out into the crowded street.
“Wexxon!” Rachel screamed as she fell to the ground in front of me, her hands shifting down to where I’d been wounded. “Wexxon! Oh my God! Are you okay? You’re bleeding—”
Her eyes went wide once they landed on the blade’s hilt. “We need to get you to a hospital. Or a doctor. Or whatever you need. You can’t go to the arena like this—”
“I must,” I murmured, calmly angling the blade away from my skin, wincing as it slid out of me. I then covered the wound with my palm before I went on. “Injuries unrelated to the arena are not an acceptable excuse to not fight. There are very few acceptable excuses, my little warrior.”
“But you’re hurt!” Rachel argued. “How could anyone expect you to fight like this?”
“I do not have a choice.”
“But Wexxon—”
“Rachel, I cannot be seen as weak!” My voice rose as I spoke. “You are still new to the planet, my little warrior. You do not understand the consequences there will be for our family if I am thrown out of the castle.”
“I don’t care about living in a castle,” she cried. “I only care about you.”
I gently took her hand into my own as I rose away from the ground, my wound still singing with pain. “Let’s finish making our way to the arena.”
“Wexxon—”
“There is nothing else to say.” I cut her off before I began to lead her further into the town square, trying my best to not think about the tiny assassin my brother had just sent for me.
For Reddin.
Was the child meant to kill me?
No.
He was meant to wound me. I thought back to Aldvirion’s words about my brother sending in a new challenger to fight against me. With an injury like this, it was going to be much harder for me to defend myself, and much easier for me to be overtaken by a stranger. My brother intended for me to perish at one of his own warrior’s hands.
I then let the thought of my brother’s treachery seep into the back of my mind as I returned my focus to the arena, the pain at my side suddenly feeling like nothing compared to the pain of an invisible knife buried deep inside my back.
Chapter Eight
Rachel
The arena was electrifying.
The energy of the place reminded me of a circus and a sold-out rock concert, all at once, with various citizens wearing tattoos of warrior’s faces on their skin, all while creatures I’d never seen before playfully ran circles around small children, too. I’d even spotted what looked like a group of young teens smoking something that created a purple haze out of the corner of my eye, their actions so fast it was like it’d never happened at all.
“Wexxon the Great! Wexxon the Great! Wexxon the Great!”
There was a continuous chant from the crowd as Wexxon and I made our way further into the arena, everyone’s attention seemingly focused on us with his every step. I’d been locked into place at his side, my arm wrapped around his waist for any potential support he might’ve needed. But despite my subtle offering of help, I’d never felt Wexxon lean against me for assistance, not even once, his every step being taken on his own accord.
And when Wexxon and I had made it up toward a dusty, beige gate, he moved away from me completely.
“Wexxon,” I said his name with a small whimper, a small pleading at the back of my throat.
“It is time for us to part, my little warrior.” Wexxon offered me a slight smile. “Will you cheer me on, too?”
“If you die, I’ll never forgive you,” I murmured, my words coming out hard and cold. “If you leave me here alone, I’ll never—”
“I would never do such a thing,” Wexxon interrupted before he placed a soft kiss against my cheek. “I will never leave you, Rachel Waters. And I will never let any harm come to you.”
No, but you will let harm come to yourself.
Which feels like letting harm come to me, too.
I kept those last thoughts to myself, unsure of how to voice just how I was feeling about my impromptu husband in this moment. As I stared over at him, I idly wondered about the side effects of Stockholm Syndrome, if I’d become one of those women who’d somehow bonded with their captors and feared for the day they’d be set free again.
But as Wexxon’s eyes met mine, as something turned warm inside my veins, I couldn’t think of anything besides the child that grew for him inside me.
“You have to win,” I whispered, my hands moving up toward his broad shoulders. “You have to come home.”
“I always do.” Wexxon grinned before he nodded at something or someone behind me. “Ah, there she is. I was worried she wouldn’t make it in time to be seated with you.”
“Very funny, Wexxon.” Palqeet’s voice was suddenly at my side. “I may run late, but I am always on time.”
Palqeet then turned toward me, casually grabbing me by the hand. “Shall we, my little doll? If we don’t take our seats now, we’ll have to stand. And I’d so hate to get blood on my brand new dress.”
“Wexxon—” I started again, but he was already jumping over the gate, his hand hovering over his injured side.
And my heart sank deep into my chest as I wondered if I was going to have to watch Wexxon take his final breath among a chanting crowd.
“Reddin wants him dead.” It was the first thing I said to Palqeet once we took our seats in the arena, high up from the center of it all. Palqeet, as always, had been quite kind to me, treating me to a slew of arena delicacies, offering me the opportunity to try one food after the other. Even now, there was something that reminded me so much of a hotdog but tasted more like spicy tofu held tight in my grip, my eyes locked on the arena below.
“Yes, but what is new?” Palqeet sighed. “I’m sure Reddin has wanted Wexxon dead for quite some time.”
“He sent a child to wound him,” I continued. “Reddin sent a child to wound Wexxon, right before we came to the arena. He wanted to make him weaker during the fight.”
“Well, that is certainly one way to assure a great victory.” Palqeet frowned. “Although, that sounds nothing like the warrior I knew.”
“Did you love him?”
“Did I love who?”
“Reddin,” I specified. “You’ve mentioned him before, and the last time you did, it sounded like you…it just seemed like maybe there was some affection there.”